


The Final Hour

by VonVarleys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Battle of Enbarr, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Gen, Mentioned Black Eagles Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Claude von Riegan, Mentioned Edelgard von Hresvelg, Those Who Slither in the Dark, Unfortunately they're mostly dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VonVarleys/pseuds/VonVarleys
Summary: Faced with certain defeat, Hubert von Vestra reaches out his hand in trust to the one whose path lies across his grave.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan & Hubert von Vestra
Kudos: 11





	The Final Hour

It had been forty-two hours since Hubert von Vestra had last slept, but then again, who’s counting? Hubert himself certainly wasn’t. All he knew was that he was exhausted, her majesty wasn’t listening, and the Alliance army was at the gates of Enbarr. Well technically four miles from the gates of Enbarr, but they’d be there soon enough. “Damn it, there’s never enough  _ time _ . If only I had more  _ time _ ,” Hubert cursed, though in his heart he knew that time wasn’t enough. The Empire needed more than time. 

What the Empire really needed was support from Brigid, but that had fallen through, his hopes dashed by the Alliance army and the princess of Brigid herself. It needed a fully healed and battle ready emperor general, rather than one whose body had been barely held together by magic since the battle at Gronder Field. It needed genuine hero’s relics rather than Agarthan showmanship. It needed the troops it had lost, to the Hrym Rebellion, at Gronder and Fort Merceus. It needed, and Hubert was ashamed to admit it, Ferdinand von Aegir’s capable command, but Ferdinand lay dead, buried near where he fell at Myrddin. It needed Bernadetta von Varley’s aim and skill at artillery, but her ashes were mingling with the dirt of Gronder Field. It needed Linhardt von Hevring’s expertise in healing, but he, together with Caspar von Bergliez, had been reduced to smoke along with the rest of the army stationed at Fort Merceus. The minister of war himself had been ruined by the loss, and was unfit for battle in his present state. It needed Dorothea Arnault, to rouse the people of Enbarr to make a final defense of the city, but she had defected along with Petra. Oh the Agarthans made promises, lots of promises, about new demonic beasts to bolster Enbarr’s defenses, new weaponry, a harebrained scheme to fortify the emperor’s very body, but none of it was enough. 

Hubert von Vestra was an intelligent man. He knew a lost cause when he saw it. Enbarr, and the Empire with it, was done for. Looking back, he supposed he’d had a good run of things.

Hubert would serve his duty to his last, of course. Die fighting to protect her majesty. No, he couldn’t sleep now, he had to be ready to take to the streets the moment the gate was breached. What sustained him now was the contents of his heart, a love so powerful it was enough for ten people, ten children sacrificed for the sake of a crest bearing heir. He would have been willing to kill and die for each of them, a thousand times, and yet nine of them were killed by Agarthan mages as he could do nothing but watch. He was willing to die as many times for the empress Edelgard, the one who had survived, the only one he had left. Edelgard would die within the next day, Hubert was sure of it. In a way, Hubert was grateful to be going ahead of her. There was no cold Faerghan underworld, no Goddess in whose light the dead would bask. He would be gone and unable to know of the goings on of earth. He wouldn’t have to see Edelgard fall. 

Hubert paced around his office and thought of the man who was leading the troops to Enbarr. Claude von Riegan. Of all the people who wanted the Empire gone and Hubert and Edelgard dead, Claude was Hubert’s favorite. They had attended the Officers’ Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery together, a lifetime ago, and Hubert knew a thing or two about Claude. Since their school days, Claude had distrusted the church. He wasn’t above using their strength, but if he discovered Rhea, he was unlikely to restore her to the position of Archbishop. Claude was a genius at bringing people together. He had kept the Alliance stable for five years, winning over even Count Gloucester. And he had ambition. That was what Hubert liked best about Claude. Claude was a man with a vision for what would happen to Fódlan after his conquest. He didn’t do this for the sake of petty revenge or to restore the reign of the Church of Seiros. Claude, like Edelgard, saw what was wrong with Fódlan and wanted to change it. Claude would take his responsibility as a victor seriously. And Hubert was grateful that Claude would be the one to defeat him.

Hubert had one regret. There was still something he had to do, but there wasn’t enough time, not before the Alliance army would arrive at the gates of Enbarr. On his desk sat graphs of parabolas, pages of mathematical equations, and a globe. Since the fall of Fort Merceus, Hubert had been running calculations. The fort, along with two members of the black eagle strike force, had been destroyed by a massive pillar of light, but that pillar of light must have come from  _ somewhere _ . Hubert knew who had sent it, the damned Agarthans of course, but where had they sent it from? And so Hubert had been tracking back over its arc, seeking reports of where in the sky it was over various points along its path, in the hopes that he would discover its origin point. 

And Hubert had succeeded. He had found Shambhala, or at least a ten mile radius in which it was located. He had to laugh when he saw that it was within Goneril territory. Claude and his vassal had been practically sitting right on top of it the entire time. But there was no time to launch an offensive into the Alliance. The Alliance army was already past Fort Merceus, marching on Enbarr. Hubert and Edelgard were already facing certain doom.

Hubert thought of what the Agarthans had done. They had violated the childhoods of himself and her majesty, killing nine of the Hresvelg children, each of whom Hubert would have happily died to protect. They had experimented on Lady Edelgard, transforming her from a boisterous and always laughing girl to a tormented and grieving young woman. They had caused needless slaughter in Remire Village and underneath Garreg Mach when they kidnapped Flayn. They had attacked the Faerghus royal family and their guard in Duscur, leading to the massacre of innocent people in retribution. And they had turned the once mighty stone Fort Merceus to a pit of molten glass. That last attack would be their undoing. Hubert would not let them get away with it. He had been plotting his vengeance since childhood. It was a shame he couldn’t be the one to carry it out. Claude would probably kill the Agarthans far more quickly than they deserved. 

Hubert knew better than to bring his concerns before her majesty. She was concerned with arranging the final defense, and hadn’t gotten much more sleep over the last few days than Hubert had. Even that had been only after Hubert had begged her to please rest to prepare herself. She wouldn’t hear a word of defeat or surrender. Lady Edelgard would never give in. She would fight to the last. If she couldn’t stand, she would drag herself across the floor with her arms. If she couldn’t lift her axe, she would use her dagger. She would not be defeated except by death. That was simply the type of person Edelgard was. Fortunately, Hubert was used to going behind her majesty’s back

Hubert sat down at his desk and pulled out a pen and an inkwell. He had one last option to ensure that even when he and Edelgard were gone, the Agarthans would face retribution for their deeds. Claude was a brilliant man and an excellent commander. He understood his position and his responsibility to the people of Fódlan. If he knew that the forces Hubert had termed Those Who Slither In The Dark existed, he would apply himself fully to their destruction. Now all that remained for Hubert was to inform him. Hubert dipped the tip of his pen into the inkwell, paused, and began to write. “If you are reading this letter, that means I have perished. As Her Majesty would never surrender to another, I can only assume she has fallen as well.” Hubert noticed his hand was shaking and put down the pen. He clenched his fist.  _ Steady now.  _

Hubert wrote, outlining what he knew of Those Who Slither In The Dark and telling Claude of his discovery as to their whereabouts. As an afterthought, he mentioned the archbishop’s location. Perhaps Claude still had some questions for her. Hubert had asked her plenty, not always gently, back in the early days of the war. 

Now to ensure that the letter would get to Claude. Hubert couldn’t simply leave it open on his desk. One of the Agarthan mages he worked with might see it and destroy it. Or Edelgard could enter and discover that he was certain of their defeat. He wasn’t sure which would be worse. He’d need to conceal it somehow, so that it would only be discovered after Claude’s army took the imperial palace. And yet, he couldn’t risk the Alliance army failing to find it and bring it to their leader. Hubert stood and paced as he thought, clasping his hands behind his back. 

One other thing that Hubert knew about Claude, something he had suspected back in their school days and had confirmed after the fall of Fort Merceus, was that Claude wasn’t from Fódlan. Claude had tried to hide it once, but there was only one reason that a man in Fódlan could call in the Almyran army and that was if he was Almyran himself. A high ranking Almyran noble too, by Hubert’s estimation. 

Hubert thought and paced and thought and paced and suddenly he had an idea. He grabbed a large sheet of paper and folded it in half, and wrote on the front “Plot to Infiltrate the Almyran Royal Household” in large print. It was the sort of thing that would scare any Alliance soldier who had grown up believing Almyra a threat. Whoever found it would certainly bring it to Claude for assessment. If Claude himself were the one to find it, Hubert knew that he’d be unable to resist reading the document of a potential threat to his royal family. Satisfied, Hubert placed his letter inside the folded sheet. He left it atop his desk, in plain sight. That would have to be enough. It was all he could do.

There was no cold Faerghan underworld, nor a heaven in the nonexistent Goddess’s light. Hubert knew this and was grateful that he would never know a world without Edelgard. He was happy and proud to die for her majesty. And yet, even in the early summer heat of Enbarr, he felt cold. Hubert would never know if his letter reached its audience. He would have to die without knowing if this last great plan would succeed. He would die without seeing Agarthan blood flowing through the streets of Shambhala. He would die an unfulfilled man, still dreaming of a revenge he would never carry out. 

All that was left for Hubert was to trust in Claude, to trust in his vision for the future of Fódlan. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know that in the game Hubert left his letter with someone to deliver to Claude, but I liked my idea better so I switched it up.


End file.
